


mine, so fine, and thick as can be

by brophigenia



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Sex, Cooking, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Dream Pack (Raven Cycle), Feeding Kink, M/M, Weight Gain, it's superrr mild tho, joseph kavinsky's intimacy kink, quarantine fifteen, threw out my scales and wrote some fic instead of crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24600826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: They were watchingScreamwhen K first noticedIt™,because Proko had a very intensethingabout Billy Loomis. K was constantly bracing himself for the day that he walked into the bedroom to find Ghostface sprawled seductively on his ten-thousand-dollar mattress.(AKA, K spends Quarantine 2020 laying around playing video games and sleeping and watching reruns of Law & Order. The Pack is more than a little obsessed with his ensuing weight gain. With sexy results.)
Relationships: Jiang/Joseph Kavinsky/Prokopenko/Skov/Swan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	mine, so fine, and thick as can be

**Author's Note:**

> Today, I post this fic.
> 
> Tomorrow, I break out _Sweatin' With the Oldies, Volume IV._
> 
> Catharsis.

_ walkin’ round with all that damn ass on her _

_ thick, thick, thick _

_ *** _

They were watching _ Scream  _ when K first noticed  _ It™, _ because Proko had a very intense  _ thing  _ about Billy Loomis. He’d always end up crying at the end of the movie when he got killed by Neve Campbell, but also getting hard when he and Stu were doing their whole gruesome twosome bit. The whole thing was just barely on the  _ hot _ side of  _ ridiculous. _ K was constantly bracing himself for the day that he came into the bedroom to find Ghostface sprawled seductively on his ten-thousand-dollar mattress, fake blood staining his Egyptian cotton sheets. 

(So he liked nice things, sue him.) 

_ Anyway. _

So they were sprawled on the couch, him and Proko and Skov, because Swan was at bikram yoga and Jiang was at the shooting range, and they’d just polished off a bowl of popcorn (extra butter, add M&Ms) and K groaned because he was full, tossing the bowl down somewhere in the dark recesses beyond the left of the couch.  _ Then,  _ he noticed that Skov and Proko were getting…  _ handsy.  _

Not like,  _ regular  _ handsy. If it were the usual type, he’d have one of them on his knees and the other gasping for air under his clenched fist faster than you could say  _ 90s cult horror classic.  _

They both had their hands on his stomach, and that’s when he became kind of uncomfortably aware of the swell of it, the softness of it, something he’d definitely  _ not  _ noticed before. He’d been skin and bones long before he’d ever done his first line of coke, and the trend had persisted even after he’d given it up for a life of domestic bliss and orgies. 

Now though, the concave curve of his stomach had somehow become convex, and it had not escaped the notice of Proko and Skov, who had touched him so softly it was like he was a goddamn freshman virgin on Raven Day, about to lose it beneath the soccer field bleachers. Timid, ruffled, ready to fly at any moment. 

K… didn’t hate it. The feeling that he was something to be handled  _ gently.  _ Something precious. Like the extra pounds he’d evidently put on during this whole ‘avoid the plague’ shit was something to be  _ revered,  _ instead of ignored and blasted away with a high-protein, low-carb diet and intense cardio. 

Still, it was a wobbly feeling, and it made his chest feel tight. Instead of pointing this out, or acknowledging it in any way, he had wrapped one hand around Proko’s throat and wrenched Skov by the arm until he was on the floor between K’s now-spread knees. 

Distractionary tactics always were his specialty. 

The next time was more subtle. 

Jiang stood at the counter, all broad shoulders and narrow waist and flexing arms, shredding potatoes to go with the onions he’d already taken apart. The oven was heating up, blinking, stainless steel to go with the other appliances in K’s state-of-the-art, ultramodern kitchen. Proko had approved the decorator’s choices in the apartment, all snippy and bitchy from too many hours spent watching HGTV and convincing himself he was some kind of authority on interior design. 

It was a good backdrop for Jiang, who always looked like the hot boyfriend in every futuristic big-budget techno-bullshit sci-fi flick. 

K  _ appreciated _ it. Jiang had a lot of special skills he brought to the table. He was a great asset to the organization. 

“You making patatnik?” He asked, hopping up onto the counter next to where Jiang was grating, peering down into the mixing bowl full of ingredients. The ceramic pie pan was waiting on the stovetop, greased already. 

“Mhmm.” Jiang hummed in response, stepping neatly to the side when he’d finished with the last peeled potato so that he could grab up a wooden spoon to stir the whole concoction up with. 

“For me?” K pressed, raising his eyebrows anticipatorily, preening like a cat that expected to be petted. 

Jiang threw him a sardonic look from where he’d moved on to pressing the carefully-prepared mixture into the pan with his dexterous fingers, flattening it with his knuckles so he could pack every bit in. “No,” he sneered, rolling those beetle-black eyes. “It’s for Crazy Delores.” 

Crazy Delores was the old lady who lived in the apartment directly below them. She had an inexplicable fondness for Swan, and her old cat Bootsie had an inexplicable fondness for sneaking into their apartment in ways that defied sense, reason, and the top-of-the-line security system K had installed upon moving in. 

“Oh, well, in  _ that  _ case,” K snipped, tossing his head and making as if to get down from his perch. “I hope  _ she _ likes it.” 

Jiang caught him with a fist wrapped in his shirt— a fist still covered in bits of uncooked patatnik filling. K went very still, trying to suppress the triumphant grin that wanted to spread across his face. He could complain about laundry and dry cleaning bills later. 

“You’re gonna eat it.” Jiang told him, leaning their foreheads together, speaking softly. Speaking in the same voice that he always used just before he put on his brass knuckles. The voice he used when he wanted to show whoever was at the other end of the phone that he  _ wasn’t fucking around.  _

It was K’s  _ favorite  _ voice. 

Still, K was a pusher. It was a  _ thing. _

“Am I?” He teased, opening his legs a little wider, tucking his chin a little more so he could peer at Jiang through his eyelashes. “There’s a lot of it, though.” Smothering down laughter half-joyous and half-malicious, he spoke in a breathless voice reminiscent of the fourteen-year-old boy he’d been, once. Or… maybe the fourteen-year-old boy  _ Proko  _ had been, once. K couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t snarl-mouthed and silver-tongued. “It’s just  _ so big.”  _

_ “All  _ of it.” Jiang repeated, and then kissed him, like he was trying to eat K whole, teeth to tibias. 

(Like K would later eat the entire patitak, under Jiang’s watchful eye, shirtless and grinning around every single bite, triumphant with the taste of home in his throat.) 

The next few instances were even subtler— Skov impishly shrugging when he  _ accidentally _ shredded half of K’s clothes in a freak laundry accident. Swan bringing him a Fat Darrell,  _ just because, _ fetched all the way from fucking  _ Rutgers _ and miraculously still hot. Proko watching with his freaky lizard stare every time K even chewed a stick of gum. Jiang, touching his belly proprietarily whenever he had even half an excuse to do so, cooking all the foods his baba had raised him on. 

So K had  _ noticed,  _ and he was still a little prickly-hot around the ears whenever he thought about it too much, but he was pretty content to be full of food and half-naked all the time, petted and praised for it like it was  _ difficult  _ to chew and swallow, to get softer, rounder. 

It wasn’t  _ explicit.  _ None of his boys had said  _ hey K I’m  _ really _ fucking into your quarantine fifteen, don’t ever change.  _

Still, K was reaping the benefits,  _ and  _ he could still fit into his jeans. 

(Probably. Even if he couldn’t, he had  _ so much money.  _ He’d buy new jeans.) 

One afternoon, Swan fed him chock-full of pecheni yabalki and then put him face-down on the bed, grabbing at his little love-handles almost obsessively even as he opened K up for his cock, cooing gentle things to him in counterpart to the inexorable stretch of his fingers, just a little too rough to be sweet. 

K only concentrated on breathing, head turned to the side and vision obscured by both sweat and tears, still getting used to the feeling of his belly shaking with each of Swan’s thrusts, first soft and then hard, Swan’s fingers digging bruises into the flesh that now covered his once-jutting hipbones. 

“You’re so  _ soft,” _ Swan mumbled into the nape of his neck. “Fuckin’ pretty.” 

K squirmed, turned his head enough to bite snappishly at Swan’s shoulder. Smothering down the smoldering pleasure and embarrassment, trying to last, trying not to betray how much this worked for him. All of it— all of his boys obsessively  _ caring  _ for him, fattening him up, feeding him and fucking him until he was overflowing with their  _ love.  _ Like he wasn’t the same monster they’d literally seen cutting a man to fucking ribbons with a switchblade and without a second thought. Like he wasn’t the deadliest creature in the whole goddamn city. 

How fucking  _ stupid.  _ How  _ gay.  _ They  _ loved him.  _

They  _ loved  _ him.

“Fuck,” K said, strangled, startled, and then came, clamping like a vise around Swan’s cock and going limp everywhere else, a sweaty mess of flesh and bruise and  _ love.  _

“Wanna get Don Angie’s for dinner?” Skov asked from the doorway, posing in a way that made him look especially attractive. It was most likely on purpose. Nothing about Jacek Skovron was accidental. Swan was still fucking into K’s upturned ass. K blinked blearily at Skov, trying to formulate a response. Even his knee-jerk acidic cruelty was quiet, not rattling his teeth like convicts on steel bars, trying to get out and hurt someone again. 

“Wanna fuck my throat?” K countered, rasping, uncalculated but almost as satisfying as the fucking he was currently getting because of how it made Skov look like he’d been hit in the head with a fencepost and then scramble out of his clothes like a cartoon character. 

“J! Prokes!  _ Sex!” _ Skov yelped before he dove onto the bed, nobly summoning them with the last ounce of brain function he could muster that hadn’t narrowed down to  _ K’sMouthK’sMouthK’sMouth.  _

K grinned, opening wide, the shameless display twisting something in his gut and making him come online a little more, rendering him capable of semi-intelligent thought. 

He was fucking  _ hungry.  _ His boys were surrounding him, stuffing him full on both ends, Proko and Jiang prowling around the bed and waiting for their turn. 

K kept his eyes open, greedy, to watch them fall to fucking pieces, ready to rip themselves to shreds for the chance to touch him, to stroke his soft underbelly and squeeze his thick thighs and press reverent kisses to the roundness of his cheeks, brushing his skin with their eyelashes. 

They’d get Don Angie’s  _ later.  _

For  _ dessert.  _

_ *** _

_ i’m a thick motherfucker, _

_ i sit this on his lap  _

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
